A LITTLE LAUGHTER CAN GO A LONG WAY
All the days of the afflicted are evil: but he that is of a merry heart hath a continual feast.
—PROVERBS 15:15
From Miriam
When our boys were younger, our son Mervin and his cousin Stephen Esh, who is from the town of Lancaster, exchanged weeklong visits each summer. Whether the boys were bottle-feeding calves, swinging on long ropes in the loft of the hay barn, or shopping for school supplies, it was always twice the fun when done together. Stephen loved farm life, so we always sent him home with a gift from the farm—a pair of pigeons, rabbits, or baby kittens, all boxed up safely with holes for ventilation to give them plenty of air during the two-hour trip home.
One year when Stephen’s parents came to pick him up, he presented his mother with the familiar cardboard box, which by now his mother had come to dread. “Oh please, no. Not another box with holes,” she cried. “What is it this time?”
Slowly she opened the top flaps of the box, peeking inside and expecting to see some furry critter jump out at her at any minute.
Suddenly she burst into laughter and pulled out a brand-new pair of black and white canvas sneakers—our gift for the summer.
Like most people in all walks of life, the Amish love to laugh. One of the best gifts we give one another is our sense of humor. Laughter lifts our spirits and strengthens us. It even brings us hope, because once we’ve laughed, we can feel heaviness lift. Children laugh easily and often. Adults often bond through sharing lighthearted banter and laughter. Can you think of a way to make someone you love laugh today?
From Cindy
For a year after I attended my first writers’ conference, I wrote for several hours each day between homeschooling our second grader, running the house, and keeping up with two active teenagers. I also dealt with some painful foot issues, and my podiatrist prescribed a year of corrective footwear with inserts. Those shoes were so ugly! But I obeyed the podiatrist’s directions.
The day before I was to leave for my second writers’ conference, I returned to the podiatrist for a routine visit. I was thrilled when he said I could start wearing any type of shoes I wanted to. I gleefully packed several pairs I hadn’t been able to wear for a year.
The next afternoon my husband drove my rooming buddy and me to the airport, where we boarded a plane and flew to Houston. The following morning Vicki and I rose early to prepare for the long day of classes and talking with editors and agents.
Before jumping into the shower, I opened my suitcase and discovered I’d packed seven pairs of shoes and not one pair of underwear. The closest clothing store was more than thirty minutes away. If I went into town, I’d miss breakfast and my first class.
When I told Vicki what I’d done, she stared at me as if the words hadn’t registered. How could a grown woman forget to pack underwear but bring every pair of heels she owned?
She went to her suitcase. “I picked up these at the last minute at the store the other night.” She pulled out a package of brand-new underwear, ripped it open, and handed me a pair. I’d have to wash one of my two pairs of underwear each evening and hang them up to dry overnight, for four days. But at least I’d have clean underwear every day.
I told a couple of women at the conference about my mix-up, and one of them wrote my story on an index card and passed it to the emcee—without including my name. At the next group gathering, the emcee read it, creating quite a stir of laughter from the other attendees. Then she said if whoever belonged to that story would stand up, she could have a free book.
I argued with myself about whether to stand or remain silent. I stood. The laughter grew louder as this well-dressed woman with the soft voice and Southern accent took a red-faced bow before going up front to receive her free book.
Now, this story could be about making lists and being better organized, but it’s not. If I made a list, I’d just lose it.
It could be about God’s faithful provision in times of need, and that aspect shouldn’t be overlooked.
But mostly it’s about relaxing. I’m not perfect. Neither are you. We need to get over that expectation. I have areas where I shine. So do you. When we don’t shine, we should relax and enjoy the ride.
The two women I told my story to became my critique partners. The tale came up at another conference I attended, though I didn’t mention it, and because of that, writing doors opened. Who would’ve thought that my lack of packing skills could cause such a chain of events?
Um, perhaps God?
BEAUTY, ASHES, AND THINGS BETWEEN
SOMETHING ON THE SIDE: AMISH WOMEN AND THEIR COTTAGE INDUSTRIES
During one of my visits to Miriam’s, we hitched a horse to a buggy, loaded up the children, and went to see some of her women friends and family. She asked what I called it when women had a small business in their home. I said, “A cottage industry.” She said she called it “having something on the side.” She added, “Almost every Amish woman has something on the side.”
Stifling a chuckle, I explained to her that for the non-Amish, that term usually referred to a relationship outside of marriage. When she could close her mouth and take a breath again, she turned many shades of red and then burst into laughter.
Amish women carry out the traditional roles of wife and mother—keeping the home and raising children—but most also have a small business venture to help bring in money. The money an Amish woman earns goes toward meeting the needs of her family, just as a husband’s money does, but both usually keep some of it to spend however they choose.
Our first stop was at the home of Miriam’s Mamm (her mom). It was hot outside, but I felt more heat pouring through the screen door as we approached. Miriam’s mother bakes a multitude of pies and pastries for several bakeries, some belonging to non-Amish people, some to the Amish. Besides the family kitchen, Miriam’s mom has a separate room attached to her home where she bakes four days a week.
A stainless-steel gas oven with numerous shelves and doors stood five feet tall. Shelves on the walls held tall stacks of baking utensils. Long countertops were covered with uncooked piecrusts ready to be placed in a pan and filling added. A teenage girl stood at the sink, washing dishes.
Miriam’s eight-year-old daughter put on an apron and began helping. She earns money helping out her Mammi (grandmother) during the summer. I couldn’t believe Amanda wanted to spend a summer day inside a room with no air conditioning and ovens radiating heat. Amanda said she’d spent years waiting to be old enough to help make piecrusts. When she was younger, her job was washing dishes, sweeping, and getting the ingredients out of the pantry so her Mammi could keep baking.
After we visited for a few minutes, Miriam and I returned to our buggy. Along the “tour” route, we passed a woman with a roadside produce stand. A mile or so later, we saw an Amish woman getting out of her buggy at an Englischer woman’s home. Miriam waved to her, then told me she cleaned people’s homes for extra money. Other Amish wives bring in additional income by sewing quilts, working at a market, selling greenhouse-grown plants, or working once or twice a week in a restaurant.
Married Amish women don’t hold full-time jobs. If a young woman has a job before she marries, she’ll give up that job after marriage. However, there are two exceptions to that rule. If a couple can’t have children or if all the children are grown and out of the home, the wife can fill her days in any manner she and her husband choose, including full-time work.
While raising children, women can run small businesses that fit around the family’s schedule. Until we began writing together, Miriam had a craft business. It required long hours, but she often involved the whole family in making the items, and she was able to schedule her work hours around her family responsibilities … most of the time.
My home is filled with wall hangings and other crafts Miriam has made, and I love all of them. In addition to those items on display, I have several of her note cards. After her family helped her brainstorm ideas, she
sketched several scenes on eight-by-ten-inch canvases and painted them. Then she took the originals to a graphics shop, where a man printed the images on four-by-five-inch note cards and provided the appropriate-size envelopes. Miriam and her family folded each one and placed small stacks of them in little boxes. She put them on consignment in various stores and sold them herself during craft shows. She sold crates of them to me, and I sold boxes of them through my Web site and gave them to people as thank-you gifts.
Single Amish women may work full-time in an Amish market or watch young children for an Englischer neighbor or teach school. Since wedding season is in the fall, schoolteachers know months before the school year starts whether they’ll be able to teach that year or not. If a wedding is planned, a new teacher will be hired, usually a month or so before the first day of school.
Most single men and women live at home until they marry. While living at home and working a full- or part-time job, they usually give their parents some or all of the money to keep for them for later or to spend as needed for the family. Young men or women who have joined the faith but haven’t married by the time they’re in their middle twenties may choose to get a place of their own. Occasionally a few friends will rent a place together, but that’s very unusual.
Few Amish women remain single, but I happen to be friends with one. She owns a very successful dry-goods store, and her parents’ home is attached to hers so she can help take care of them. (She has several sisters who live nearby, and they also help with their parents.) She helps cater meals for weddings, travels throughout the United States on purchasing trips (with a hired female driver), and never has enough hours in the day for all she’d like to do. During one of my trips to Pennsylvania, she cooked a wedding feast for me so I could ask questions and take notes, and she also invited several Amish women. That whole evening is one of my most cherished memories. The next day I went to her store to discuss some book-related business, and she’d made me a Christmas salad.
Whenever I need a reminder of how to stay organized with a busy schedule, I spend a little time with her.
Her Christmas Salad is beautiful and absolutely delicious! So I asked if she’d send me the recipe.
CHRISTMAS SALAD
by Rachel Esh
First layer (green):
1 (6-ounce) box lime Jell-O
3½ cups boiling water
1 can (14–16 ounces) crushed pineapple, drained (Save the juice for the second layer.)
Stir the Jell-O into the boiling water. When it has started to set, add the drained pineapple. Pour into a 9″ × 13″ pan, and place in the refrigerator until congealed.
Second layer (white):
1 (¼-ounce) package unflavored gelatin
½ cup warm water
1 cup pineapple juice (Add water to the strained pineapple juice to make 1 cup.)
1 (8-ounce) package cream cheese, softened
1 (8-ounce) container Cool Whip
Add the unflavored gelatin to ½ cup of warm water, and stir until dissolved. Heat the pineapple juice until boiling. Stir in the gelatin mixture. Remove from the heat, and add the cream cheese. Let stand until completely cool, and then add the Cool Whip. When the first layer (green layer) is completely set, pour the second layer (white layer) over it.
Top layer (red):
1 (6-ounce) box strawberry or cherry Jell-O
3½ cups boiling water
Stir the Jell-O into the boiling water. When it is completely cool and has started to set, add it to the top of the white layer. Chill until firm.
From Miriam
This is a handy dish I make for my family when I’m busy with my side business.
GREEN BEAN AND HAM CASSEROLE
1½ cups shell macaroni
1 can green beans, drained
1 can condensed cream of mushroom soup, mixed with half a soup can of milk
1 to 2 cups cheddar cheese, grated (depending on how much cheese you like)
2 cups ham, chopped
½ cup onion, chopped
2 cups hash-brown potatoes, grated
salt and pepper to taste
Cook and drain the macaroni according to directions. Layer ingredients, as listed, in a greased small roasting pan or medium casserole dish. Bake at 350 degrees for 1 hour.
THE STING
Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
—MATTHEW 5:4, NIV
From Cindy
First Corinthians 15:55 used to frustrate me. “O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?” Death has plenty of sting! Not for the believer who has died, but it sure hurts those who are left behind.
As I’ve matured, however, I’ve come to see the truth behind the painful reality of death.
In 2005 I belonged to an e-mail loop of about five hundred Christians, mostly aspiring authors. We were from all across the United States, and some were from other countries. One day a woman wrote, “Dear God, please don’t make me watch my only child die.”
When I read her e-mail, tears ran down my face. As I learned a little more about her, I found out that she lived in my area and that her son was a Marine. He had recently been diagnosed with cancer and was staying at a nearby hospital.
I bought a nice card and signed it from the group, gathered a few books she might enjoy reading while staying at the hospital, and went to visit her and her son. I didn’t know what she looked like, but I knew what floor she’d be on. The nurses directed me from there.
When I arrived, the young man was having a procedure done. I found his mom in a waiting room, and we fell into each other’s arms. The raw pain reflected in her eyes made me physically hurt, but I could see she was holding on to hope.
Her son’s surgeon entered and invited me to visit the young man. That breach of standard protocol told me that he didn’t have much time.
I prayed with him, asking God to help him feel encouraged by the love and concern the online group had for him and his parents. He assured me he had God’s peace.
A few days later he died.
His parents mourned long and hard, but his mom told me that comfort surrounded her throughout every step of that journey. Healing their broken hearts came more slowly. Their grief will never completely cease, but I’m awed at the loving-kindness she exudes to everyone. She’s an encourager who radiates God’s love, and she willingly shares God’s goodness through her writing.
She stopped writing fiction for a while but never stopped writing of His great love in her diaries. At the bottom of each e-mail, she has this paraphrase of Lamentations 3:22–23: “The Lord’s mercies are new every morning; great is His faithfulness.” As time passed, she began writing fiction again, and Connie’s debut novel, Leave Me Never, was released a couple of months ago.3
From Miriam
In the fall of 2006, our community had to deal with the grief over the West Nickel Mines School shooting, in which five little girls were killed. The horror of it was thick in the air, and it showed on everyone’s face, was heard in each conversation, and made daily headlines for weeks.
The tragedy took place a hundred miles west of our home, so it wasn’t in our school district or church community, but three of my nephews were involved. Two were students in the school that day, and one worked as a volunteer fireman for a department that was dispatched to the school. So the pain and terror of that day stung our minds and hearts.
Nothing had ever shaken our world as fiercely as this did. As much as we tried to reassure our two school-age children (and ourselves), sending them to school each morning became harder instead of easier.
Amish school boards across the state met to discuss ways to make our children safer. After one such meeting, I left disappointed that the elders weren’t doing more to protect the children and teachers in the local Amish and Mennonite schools.
I wrestled with frustration and fear. How could I help my children deal with their fear when I was struggling myself?
I remembered a window
sticker I’d received about eight years earlier as a gift from Guideposts and had stuck on the glass of my front door. I went to the door and peeled off the sticker. Over the years the words had given my family and me a sense of security. Perhaps it could do the same for the children who attended our one-room schoolhouse.
Not sure how my two schoolchildren, Amanda and Mark, would feel about presenting the sticker to their teacher, I told them the original story. A would-be robber was armed with a gun and prepared to use it when he entered a store and threatened the owner. Then he read the sign above the door, which said, “God is our security guard, always on duty.”
I asked if they wanted to take the sticker to school for their door. Their smiles put to rest any misgivings I had.
To this day that sticker reminds all the students in that schoolhouse who is really in control and gives them peace.
There is nothing wrong with providing some measures of protection for ourselves and our loved ones. But true peace can only be found by realizing that our only real shelter is God. We know the “thief” comes to destroy, but no matter what happens on this fallen planet, God knows how to heal the brokenhearted and how to give beauty for ashes (see John 10:10; Luke 4:18; and Isaiah 61:3).
WHEN LIFE GIVES YOU SCRAPS
Yet man is born unto trouble, as the sparks fly upward.
—JOB 5:7
From Cindy
My debut novels were a three-book series called Sisters of the Quilt. While writing those books, I learned some fascinating things about quilts.
Quilts provide a way for Amish women to be creative inside a restricted lifestyle. Sewing a quilt is also a great reason for the women to come together to accomplish a worthy goal. When my Amish friends make plans for an upcoming quilting, they talk about special creams for the coffee and delicious desserts. The fellowship involved in making a quilt helps to sew love, humor, and memories into each one.
Plain Wisdom Page 11
